


I'd marry you again (& again)

by dilkirani



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Mostly Fluff, a bit of angst but it's reset, alternate realities because of time travel shenanigans, but one true happy ending, just a bunch of wedding scenes let's be honest, who cares about science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 23:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilkirani/pseuds/dilkirani
Summary: Five times FitzSimmons get married and the one time it sticks.





	I'd marry you again (& again)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to itsavolcano for the beta! and thanks to grapehyasynth for brainstorming wedding possibilities--Vegas + an upset mother is all her!

i.

The forecast predicts rain, just as Fitz had insisted it would, but Jemma silences him with an arched eyebrow before he can say anything. “It doesn’t count as a curse if we chose to have an outdoor wedding in Scotland and it rains, Fitz. This was a statistical likelihood.”  

“I said that _one_ time,” he grouses, but underneath his words are only affection and happiness.

Jemma walks over and sits on his lap, curling into him. “I need to get ready,” she murmurs, and he shakes his head, wrapping his arms more tightly around her. She laughs, but doesn’t actually make an effort to leave.

Caught in a perpetual cycle of saving the world left little time for wedding planning, so his mother and Jemma’s parents had taken over. When they arrived in Glasgow, they’d found themselves relegated to following everyone else’s orders. It’s not necessarily the wedding they would have chosen, but he can’t be anything but extraordinarily grateful to be here. If Jemma’s dress is a bit frillier than she would have liked, the decor more excessive than necessary, the bouquets a little gaudy, neither of them even think to complain. They know more than most that reaching this point was never guaranteed.

Still, he relishes the momentary quiet of the morning, the stolen minutes he’s allowed to spend with Jemma, and he can’t help wishing it could stay this way, just the two of them, for awhile longer.

“I love you so much,” she sighs, her breath feathering across his neck. He dips his head to kiss her in response, and it’s slow and reverent in a way they are so rarely allowed to be.

They reluctantly disentangle when Daisy knocks seconds later, having been commanded to retrieve Jemma.

“I’ll see you soon,” Jemma promises, and he holds her words deep inside because it’s the only way he can let her go.

++

He’d wanted them to write their own vows—the only part of the wedding they had any real control over—and he’d spent hours thinking of what to say, how to explain what this day meant. But when he’s looking at Jemma in front of him, her wedding ring in the palm of his hand, nothing he’s planned is good enough.

“Jemma,” he says, and her name, the most important word in his vocabulary, is enough to fill his eyes with tears. “I want you to know I...I’ve realized something. The universe can’t stop us. Because we have crossed—” he pauses, seeing Jemma’s eyes very subtly widen, and remembers a significant percentage of the audience, including his mother and her parents, knows nothing of the more classified aspects of their relationship milestones. “—continents,” he finishes. He bites his lip and gently squeezes her fingers. He’s not fully aware of where the words are coming from, only that they’re bubbling out and he’s desperate for her to understand what he’s trying to say.

“We’ve crossed continents, we survived Professor Vaughn’s classes and Sci-Ops and fieldwork we weren’t cleared for, together. And a love like that, that is stronger than any curse.” Somewhere in his periphery, he can hear laughter from the gathered crowd. They will think he’s making a joke or being dramatic, but Jemma smiles tremulously and he knows she’s deciphering what he’s really promising her.

“You and I, we are unstoppable together, and I don’t want to live another day without you. So, Jemma Simmons, I vow to be by your side the whole damn time. I vow to love and cherish you forever.”

He slips the ring onto her finger and she steals a kiss before he can move away. He smiles against her lips and ignores Daisy’s half-hearted slap to his shoulder.

“Leopold James Fitz,” Jemma says, beaming widely at him, “if I had waited for you to propose, we’d never have gotten here.”

“Hey—” he starts to protest, but she laughs and covers his mouth with her hand.

“I’m tired of not being married to you, and I can’t wait to start this part of our lives together. I vow to always be with you, no matter what. You’re my person, and I will love and cherish you forever.” She pulls at the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer. “So marry me, Fitz.”

He grins, barely waiting for her to slide the ring on to his finger before capturing her mouth in another kiss. “Absolutely,” he whispers.

“I feel like there’s no point in me saying you may kiss now, so whatever,” Mack sighs. “But I’ll still pronounce you husband and wife.”

Fitz draws Jemma back to him amidst cheers, just as the skies open with surprising fury. There’s screaming and a mad dash for the reception hall, but he hardly registers the clamor.

“What’s a little rain when we’ve survived the bottom of the Atlantic?” he asks. Jemma wraps her arms around his neck and he lifts her, twirling her around. Her laughter echoes in his ears, louder than the downpour.

* * *

ii.

“It’s not like it really matters, I suppose,” Jemma says one night as they lie tangled together on the twin mattress in their bunk. “Ceremonies aren’t allowed, there aren’t any legal benefits, we’re already living together. We probably…” She stops, blinking back tears from a heartache he knows she’s only recently begun to feel. “We probably wouldn’t be approved for a child even if we put in a request. We’re not exactly popular with the Kree.”

Fitz turns to her and runs a finger along the curve of her face. “But it matters to you,” he says. He hadn’t realized until this moment that it did. He’s often found himself, when he isn’t thinking about everyone and everything they’ve lost or struggling with a time machine he doesn’t believe will actually work, daydreaming about the wedding they could have had. But Jemma has always been more pragmatic, and marriage on the Lighthouse means nothing at all.

“Isn’t that a silly thing to think about?” she asks, and the tremor in her voice causes splinters to dig their way into his heart.

“No,” he reassures her. “Of course it’s not.”

She cries then, unexpectedly, shuddering sobs that echo loudly in their room. At some point, she had stopped crying. If they fell apart at every horror they’d experienced since the world cracked open, they wouldn’t survive. Fitz holds her to him, pressing his lips to her forehead and trying not to be sick as Robin’s words flood his mind.

This is how it will end—with Jemma crying in his arms. He tries to pull himself back. Today is not that day. Today he can love her without losing her. She is real and alive and whole, and today he can save her.

He shifts until he is sitting up, bringing her with him and reaching for a small pouch in his cubby-hole next to the bed. He takes her hand in his and shakes out two rings, smooth and polished, like something from Before.

“Made ‘em with some scrap metal I nicked. I was saving them for…” He can’t say it, but she’ll know—for a mythical day that won’t ever come, when they return to the past and save the world. He’d never believed in a higher power, so how could he believe in a prophecy that set the remains of their team up as saviors? And yet he’d held onto these rings because he hadn’t wanted it to be like this.

Fitz holds her hands and ducks his head until he can meet her eyes. She’s still crying but she smiles at him, soft and trusting.

“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old,” he tells her. “There’s no one else I’d rather be trapped in a dystopian hellscape with.”

Jemma laughs and rolls her eyes, and he sneaks a kiss. Everything here is stolen, even these moments that should be their right.

He struggles to remember what people say in weddings, but people don’t have them anymore, and his memories are blurring together. “I promise,” he tries, “to love and respect and support you. I promise to be with you, for better or worse, metrics full of units or none at all, in sickness and in health, until—” His lungs constrict and he breathes through the pain of it, of knowing it has always been until her death. “Forever. I promise I’ll be with you forever.”

Fitz slides the ring onto her finger and she lifts her hand up, the metal shining in the dim light.

“I promise,” she repeats after him, “to love and respect and support you. I promise to be with you, for better or worse, metrics full of units or none at all, in sickness and in health, forever.”

He looks down as she puts his own ring on. It surprises him, seeing it against his skin, new and odd and yet already a part of him.

“Fitz,” she says urgently, and he glances back up at her. “I promise, okay? I promise I’ll be with you forever.”

He knows what she’s trying to tell him, what she’s trying to give him. He wants nothing more than to take her offering, but he doesn’t know how to have faith.

“You’re my _husband_ ,” she says, framing his face with her hands and kissing away his tears. “But you’re more than that, too. I’ll always be with you, Fitz.”

He kisses her back, hungrily and greedily. Today she is real and alive and whole, and today his ache for her can be soothed.      

* * *

iii.

“I can’t believe we’ve never been to Vegas before!” Jemma giggles, pulling sharply at his arm so he topples into her side.

“Is it honestly that exciting? We don’t gamble or participate in other...seedy activities.”

“We could see a show?” Jemma suggests, although she seems content enough to stay in this club and order increasingly complicated drinks. “I always thought of a Vegas trip as very _American_. A real cultural experience.”

“It’s too bad Coulson didn’t give us more than one night off. Who knows what sort of American cultural experiences we could have.” If she detects the sarcasm in his voice, she doesn’t respond, just insistently pushes another drink his way.

It might not be his ideal vacation, but they haven’t had a free night in ages, and he can’t complain when Jemma’s warm body is pressed against him, when the worry lines creasing her forehead have smoothed out and she’s giggling like they used to, back when everything was easy.

She kisses his jaw and then slides closer, biting at his ear. He squirms a bit, not quite as comfortable with public displays of affection as she is, although based on the antics of some other couples in this club, her actions could be considered positively family-friendly.  

“Let’s get married,” she whispers, the heat of her exhale fanning across his face.

“Um, wh-what?” he manages, brain stuck somewhere between where her hand is inching up his thigh and the shock of her words, spoken as if she’d merely suggested ordering room service.

“It’s a proper American experience, isn’t it? Going to Vegas and unexpectedly getting married? Oh, do you think we could find an Elvis officiant? Now _that_ would be authentic.”

Fitz realizes he must be a few more beers in than he’d thought, because he can’t think of any compelling counterarguments to Jemma’s reasoning, which rarely happens.

“Okay…” he says, drawing the word out to give him time to think. “You’re sure about this though? This isn’t the alcohol?”

Jemma smiles at him and then straddles his lap in one fluid motion. She tugs him to her by the collar, and her grin is mischievous but her eyes are heart-stoppingly sincere. “Of course I’m sure. I’ve wanted to marry you for ages, and I’m afraid with this whole saving-the-world business, we might never have the opportunity.”

He chews on his lip, considering, although he’s never had the power to deny her. And anyway, she’s right—they know better than anyone the danger of waiting, and he really, truly wants to marry her. He grabs his cell phone from the table and does a quick Google search. He shows her what he thinks is an acceptable result, and she approves with a decidedly non-PG kiss.

++

He hadn’t meant to answer the phone—the shrill ringing had only increased the pounding of his head and he thought he’d rejected the call. Instead, his mother’s voice reverberates in the tiny hotel room, staticky through the speaker.

“Leopold James Fitz, I have been _asking_ you about your wedding plans for ages! I haven’t seen you _or_ Jemma in almost _two years_ , and you have the absolute gall to send me photos of the two of you eloping in Vegas? _Vegas_ , Leopold?”

Fitz groans, pulling a pillow over his face. He vaguely remembers texting his mother a few photos. Drinking apparently turns him into an idiot.

“Hello, Linda!” Jemma pipes up from beside him, sounding remarkably bright and cheery and not at all hungover.

“Oh, hello, Jemma. Please don’t think I’m upset at you, love. I know this harebrained idea must’ve been all Leo’s doing.”

Fitz expects Jemma to correct his mother, but instead she hums noncommittally and smirks at his outraged expression.

“Well, you know how Fitz can be,” she says as he splutters in protest. “He’s so focused once he gets an idea into his head. We’re dreadfully sorry we didn’t tell you, though. What if we plan a nice reception in Glasgow later this year, would that be all right? We haven’t even told my parents yet, and I’m sure they’ll be equally upset.”

He can hear his mother considering before she acquiesces with a sigh. “That’s a lovely idea. Very modern.”

“Wonderful,” Jemma says, snuggling into his side. The feel of her limbs entwined with his leaves him both breathless and content. He’s suddenly aware that this is the first morning he’s woken up next to his wife, and the realization staggers him.

“And of course, congratulations! I must admit I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic, and I’ve been praying for this day since Leo first wrote me about this brilliant girl in his classes. I spent months encouraging him to say something to you, but he was too shy. Kept telling me he couldn’t think of anything clever enough to get your attention. And now I can hardly believe it, but here we are! I’m so very happy for you two.”

Jemma glances up at him, eyes wide in surprise, although he can’t imagine why.

“Thank you, Linda,” she says. “We’ll email you some potential dates, okay?”

“Of course. Love you both.”

“Love you, Mum,” Fitz manages. When he hangs up the phone, Jemma is still staring at him, her expression inscrutable.

“What?” he asks.

“You really spent months trying to get my attention?”

Fitz shrugs. “I always thought it was a bit obvious. Why?”

Jemma shakes her head, eyes softening as she looks at him. “It’s nothing. I just...I’ve always noticed you, Fitz.” She moves until she’s lying on top of him, her head resting against his heart. “I love you so much,” she whispers. “Thank you for agreeing to this.”

He takes her hand in his, their matching wedding bands lining up. His whole body warms at the sight. “What else was I gonna do?” he says, dropping a kiss to her head, but she’s already fallen back asleep.

* * *

iv.

Jemma takes his hand, sliding her fingers in between his, and for a moment the horror of their situation fades and he feels the relief that has only ever come from her presence.

“I’ve thought about our wedding a lot,” she whispers. It’s not at all what he’s expecting her to say, and her ability to surprise him after all their years together sends tendrils of warmth through his veins. It’s too dark to see her expression, but he doesn’t need to. He closes his eyes and breathes her in.

“I never thought I’d be that type of person,” Jemma continues, squeezing his hand, the alternating pressure their own Morse code. This is the way she holds his hand when she’s telling him _you’re my person_. “You were always the romantic one. But I imagined having a small ceremony in the backyard of our cottage in Perthshire. We’d have decorated with fairy lights and flowers, and that’s all we’d need because our home would be so lovely. We could have drinks and all your favorite desserts and half our friends would end up passing out in the living room.”

The drip of a tear off her nose somehow echoes in their hidden closet, despite the cacophony closing in from the outside, and Fitz finds he can’t speak at all. He squeezes her hand back. _You’re my person, too_.

“I was going to make you wear a kilt,” she laughs. “I thought you’d look so handsome.”

He swallows thickly and draws her into his arms. At this point, there is no need for defensive posturing. There is no reason to prepare. Fighting was destined to get them this far, and this far only. The lifelines on their palms match up, and the truth they’ve fought for so long is this: their love is infinite but their bodies are fragile.

She presses a kiss to his chest and speaks directly to his heart: “I was going to vow to be with you forever, no matter what. But if this is the price for our years together, I wouldn’t change a thing. I hope you know that. So, since this is our last chance: Leopold James Fitz, will you—”

“Jemma,” he chokes. “I—”

But here, they have always been too late.

* * *

v.

“This is ridiculous,” Jemma seethes, storming into the lab where he’s finishing up with equipment diagnostics.

“What is it?” he asks, turning to her in concern.

She wipes furiously at the tears on her cheeks, and he can tell by her posture that she’s equally angry at herself. “I know I’m being stupid, and after everything we’ve been through wedding planning should be the easiest thing to survive, but it’s so _stressful_ , and you know, it’s hard finding any vendors with any sort of proper cancellation policy. Is it _our_ fault we work for a spy organization and can’t always predict what threats will arise last minute? We already lost all our deposits from the last time everything fell apart, and I just got off the phone with the venue, and they refuse to rebook us because they think we’re fickle. _Fickle_ , Fitz, as if we knew there’d be a bloody alien invasion a week before our wedding!”

A need for air forces Jemma to stop yelling, and he takes the opportunity to gather her in his arms. “I know,” he soothes, stroking her hair rhythmically until her erratic breathing slows down. “I’m so sorry, Jemma. I know it’s not fair.”

“Why aren’t you more upset by this?” she asks.

He holds her even closer and rests his cheek on the top of her head. “I am upset. I wanted this, too. But mostly I want to be married to you, and we can find another way.”

“A courthouse wedding?” Her voice is subdued, muffled against his shirt.

Fitz steps back and takes her hand, guiding her over to his work station. “I was doing some research for a honeymoon, and it was supposed to be a surprise, but…” He clicks on a folder on his desktop and opens a brochure he’d downloaded the other day.

“The Seychelles?” Jemma’s eyes widen, the corners of her mouth quirking up.

“Yeah, well, we never got the chance. But I noticed this place offers—” he scrolls down until he finds the highlighted paragraph. “—wedding packages. You don’t have to book them far in advance, and we’d only need to bring a few documents.”

Jemma steps closer, skimming through the information. “I’d wanted everyone to be there," she sighs. "But after today, I don’t see it happening. And oh, Fitz...this is absolutely beautiful.” She turns her face towards him, and her smile is enough to make him believe in a universe where anything is possible.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks. _Beautiful_.  

She reaches up, brushing her lips against his. “I’m in. And I’m going to do something with you on that island that will take your breath away.”

He laughs. “I know, I know, we’re going snorkeling.”

Jemma smiles smugly, stepping forward until there’s no space between them. “No,” she says, gazing directly at him and making his heart stutter. “I’m not talking about snorkeling.”

Fitz is not entirely convinced he’ll survive the wedding.

* * *

(+ i.)

“Can you believe how beautiful it is today? And you insisted planning an outdoor wedding in Scotland was practically begging for rain. Perhaps we’re not cursed after all.” Jemma is sitting at their breakfast nook, a mug of tea in her hands. The light from the rising sun filters in through the open window, setting her hair ablaze. Fitz is about to tell her how beautiful she looks, but first—

“Ugh, I said that _one_ —”

“You said it more than once, actually.”

“Okay, fine, but I also said we were stronger than any curse. Which you’d know if Kasius hadn’t ruined my proposal.”

“Fitz,” Jemma says, almost sternly, as she sets her tea down and holds a hand out to him. He walks over to stand between her legs and she gazes up at him with an adoration so intense it’s like standing beneath a waterfall.

“Yeah?”

“We’re getting _married_ today.” She reaches up to pull at his shirt and he tips towards her, kissing her and tasting Earl Grey and orange scone. He doesn’t know how many kisses they’ve shared in this lifetime or how many they’ve lived and can’t remember, only that the press of her lips to his is, all these years later, both achingly familiar and intoxicatingly new.

“We’re getting married today,” he agrees. He sits down at her feet, resting his back against the window bench and letting Jemma run her fingers through his hair. He gazes around at the small cottage they’ve made their own, at the fresh flowers and fairy lights serving as wedding decor. It’s simple and beautiful and he thinks, _god, I’ve waited my whole life for this._ Not just for the wedding, for all of it—their home, the family they’ve created in each other. They spent lifetimes separated or failing to save the world, but all of that pain only led them to this beginning.

“We have at least thirty minutes before my parents inevitably show up two hours ahead of schedule,” Jemma says. Her fingernails scratch playfully at his scalp and he sighs in contentment.

“Mm, any plans?”

He glances up when she doesn’t respond, and her answering smirk is demanding to be kissed off her face. So he does.

++

Fitz and Jemma tiptoe through the living room, where Daisy, Mack, Elena, Hunter, and Bobbi are passed out, sprawled across the floor and all of their furniture. They quietly pile leftover dessert onto a paper plate and sneak back into bed, taking turns with one fork and giggling like it’s fifteen years ago and they’re tipsy in their dorm room after finishing top of all their classes for the semester.

“You looked so good today,” Jemma mumbles, mouth full of cake. “I knew you’d be ridiculously attractive in a kilt.”

“Really? Because you couldn’t wait to get me out of it,” Fitz replies, leaning forward to kiss frosting from the corner of her mouth.

Jemma laughs, unabashed. “As if you were any better. I’ll never find those buttons, and they were beautiful.”

Fitz blushes, apologetic, and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “ _You’re_ beautiful,” he says. “Was the wedding everything you wanted?”

“Yes.” She takes a final bite of cake and sets the plate down on her nightstand. “I’m sure I’m being grossly sentimental, but this was the best day of my life.” Jemma lies down, resting her head in his lap and closing her eyes as he softly slides his fingers through her hair.

“Do you ever think about...with all the time jumps, there must be some version of us that never experienced this, right?”

“No,” Fitz says, voice firm. “Everything was always going to lead us here.”

He feels Jemma smile against his leg, can tell from the way the rhythm of her breathing changes that she’s falling asleep. “I don’t think you’re speaking with your usual scientific lack of bias.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I refuse to believe this wasn’t always our future.”

Jemma reaches up, pulling his hand from her hair and bringing it to her face. She kisses his palm and then rests his hand to her chest, so he can feel the beating of her heart.

“My hopeless romantic,” she sighs.

“Yeah, well, you married me.”

She laughs and he shifts until he’s lying on his side facing her. “I did,” she murmurs. “And I would do it again. I don’t think there could exist a version of me that wouldn’t want to marry you.”

He kisses her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. “I love you,” he whispers. “I can’t wait for our future.”

Jemma smiles against his lips, no longer on the precipice of sleep. She kisses him deeply and draws him towards her until his body rests heavily on top of hers. She holds him tightly, and Fitz forgets all about the past and the future and the mystifying combination of the two, because lying here, tangled up in his wife’s limbs, is the only thing he’s ever needed.

 


End file.
